BRINGING MY WIFE BACK

Chapter 001: Grief

The grand bedroom now felt suffocating. Amidst all the luxury, Atthy sat frozen at the edge of the bed, her wide eyes still trying to process every word that had just come out of her husband’s mouth. Duke Hugh Griffith—who was supposed to be her protector and life partner—stood casually beside the bed. As he picked up the clothes scattered on the floor, he delivered words that pierced straight into Atthy’s heart.

"You’re nothing but a foolish woman. You think too highly of yourself. To me, you’re no better than those who beg for a man’s attention on the street in exchange for a sack of coins," Hugh said flatly, with no hint of remorse.

Those words shattered Atthy’s entire world. Her body trembled, her heart slashed by an invisible blade. She wanted to scream, to challenge him, to fight back—but her mind told her to stay calm. This was her marriage—even if only on paper. Her family had placed high hopes on her, and Atthy knew she couldn’t disappoint those expectations. Yet this wedding night was nothing like the dreamy fantasy young girls imagined when they longed for marital bliss.

"Are you satisfied now that you’ve slept with me?" Hugh asked with a mocking tone, looking at Atthy as if she were nothing more than an object unworthy of attention. His gaze was filled with arrogance, though for a fleeting second, a flicker of doubt passed beneath his detached demeanor.

"Satisfied?" Atthy echoed, her voice trembling but growing stronger. "Do you think this marriage is just about ambition and lies? Am I only worthy of being used to solidify your status?"

Hugh frowned, then replied coldly, "I’m simply clarifying your position, Athaleyah Galina. You must remember where you came from. Don’t let the title of ‘Duchess’ on paper fool you into forgetting that you’re just a pawn in a much larger game."

Atthy’s eyes flared. "My position? Are you saying I’m only a ‘Duchess on paper’? Your Grace, Duke Hugh Griffith, I am no puppet for you to play with as you please. I have my pride, and I will not continue to bow to your insults."

A moment of silence fell over the once opulent room, yet the tension remained thick. Each crumpled piece of clothing seemed to bear silent witness to the fierce clash between two souls trapped in a political marriage. Beneath the grandeur, Atthy felt a deep bitterness—a chasm of loneliness that began to consume her.

"You think sleeping with me gives you control over me? Woman... I, Duke Griffith, am not a man you can manipulate just because I’ve tasted your body," Hugh hissed, each word sharp and cutting. "I could easily find women like you on the streets—and you? You’re just one of them."

Hearing those words, Atthy held back tears, but courage began to rise from the ruins of her dignity. "Why must you speak to me this way—on my first night as your wife? Is this what you think is right? It’s been three months since our wedding, and you’ve barely acknowledged my existence. Has all of this just been a game to assert your power?"

Hugh fell silent for a moment. His face showed a brief flicker of doubt, quickly replaced by his usual coldness. "I want you to understand, Athaleyah. I want you to be aware of your place so that you’re not lulled by an empty title. I’ve given you the chance to be honest—What are your ambitions?"

Atthy could no longer contain her anger. "Is it so wrong for me to have the ambition of winning my husband’s heart?! So you’re saying I’m merely a tool in your game? That my presence and my feelings mean nothing? I’m tired of swallowing all these insults, and tonight, I will not remain silent."

Hugh’s eyes narrowed, seemingly startled by the fire and fury in Atthy’s voice. "Will you keep crossing words with me? Then tell me—are you prepared to leave a marriage that at least grants you power and position?"

The air grew even more tense. Atthy stepped forward, her gaze sharp as a blade. "I know what I want. I want to choose my own path, to live by my own will—not according to your ambition or political games. I will not sacrifice my dignity just to satisfy your hollow pride."

Hugh remained still, then said in a hoarse voice, "Athaleyah Galina, your explanation contradicts everything I thought I knew about you. But I will give you a choice. I’ve heard enough. You are free to leave me. There’s no need to involve the King. With my power, I’ll ensure you won’t face any trouble out there."

"I will go," Atthy replied firmly, though her voice still trembled with emotion. "But you must promise me one thing. Promise me—do not touch my family, do not interfere in their lives. Let them live in peace. I choose this path not to hurt, but to protect the peace of those I love."

Hugh froze for a moment, stunned by the request. Beneath his usual arrogance, a fleeting shadow of regret crossed his face—a feeling that almost made him falter. But pride and the need to stay in control quickly took over. ''You’re truly stubborn,'' he muttered, though his tone now carried a note of uncertainty he couldn’t shake.

''Correct,'' Atthy replied, her gaze sharp. ''And it’s that very defiance that will keep me from living in your shadow. I will not be part of a power game that only strips away who I am.''

Moments later, Atthy turned away from Hugh. Her head felt heavy, but she couldn't suppress her urge to walk away—to find peace, or maybe just to flee from a suffocating reality.

Hugh watched her from a distance, realizing something was missing inside him—something far deeper than mere feelings. As Atthy turned her back to him, the loneliness in her silhouette struck him. And then, he called out, more softly than before.

"Atthaleyah..."

Atthy didn’t answer. Only her eyes reacted to the sound of his voice.

Hugh exhaled quietly. His tone turned colder as he finally said, ''Don’t regret this.''

Atthy gave a faint smile, unshaken. ''Don’t worry. I won’t.''

His pride wouldn't let him admit that this time, his instincts screamed louder than ever—that it wasn’t Atthy who would come to regret this, but himself.

Hugh opened the door to his chamber with calm, calculated movements. But his expression sharpened the moment he saw Atthy’s three personal maids standing rigid outside.

They had been waiting for him.

All three stood with bowed heads, hands folded neatly, trying to appear obedient. But their anxiety was far too obvious to hide.

''Good morning, Your Grace,'' greeted Stela, trying to smile, though her lips quivered slightly.

Hugh didn’t respond.

His gaze pierced through them like a blade, scanning their faces one by one.

Stela lowered her head further. Bela bit her lip to hold back her nerves. Rosa, the youngest, was already on the verge of collapsing, her knees weak.

Silence.

The tension was suffocating, as if the air itself had grown heavier.

''Is there something you’d like to tell me?''

His voice was flat, but the weight behind it nearly stopped their breath.

They exchanged glances. None of them dared to speak first.

''We... were only checking if the Duchess needed anything,'' Bela finally said.

A lie.

Too rehearsed.

Hugh sighed slowly. He had no interest in their excuses.

''You should know...'' he paused, letting his words hang in the air.

''…that I’m not a man you can fool twice.''

They froze.

''One more mistake…'' Hugh stepped forward, just enough to make them instinctively draw back.

''…and there won’t be a third chance.''

His gaze remained cold, not flaring with rage—just a final, irrefutable verdict.

Now they knew one thing for certain.

Hugh Griffith would not give them another opportunity.

Without waiting for their reaction, Hugh walked past them, as if they no longer mattered.

The three maids stayed rooted to the spot, paralyzed by a fear more tangible than ever.

''My lord, shall I prepare anything?'' asked Helena, the head maid, who had just arrived swiftly.

''Send Alwyn to my study at once, and get Dr. Windfold to check on her!'' Hugh barked, his tone firm.

Helena blinked, taken aback. ''Excuse me, my lord?!''

''She... she seems injured. No—she is injured... Never mind that! Just take care of her!'' Hugh’s voice tensed. His expression remained cold, but Helena caught something unusual—a hint of awkwardness.

She frowned slightly, wondering. ''Why does this man, usually colder than a mountain’s peak, look... flustered?''

Still, she kept her curiosity to herself. Professionalism came first.

''Understood, my lord,'' she said, though her heart swirled with questions. Something about Hugh had shifted, and she could feel it.

Helena turned to glance at Atthy’s three maids, still standing nervously by the door.

''What’s going on with them?'' she thought. ''What are they hiding that they’re too afraid to speak aloud?''

But her master came first.

''What are you waiting for?! Inside!'' she ordered.

The moment they entered, their expressions twisted with worry. Helena stiffened as she caught sight of the room. Her eyes widened, a hand flying to cover her mouth. The room was a mess. But more than that—the sight of Atthy made her chest tighten.

''Ah, Duchess!'' Helena rushed over. ''What happened?''

Atthy looked at her, her eyes blank but resolute. Her face pleaded for help without a word, yet beneath the pain, she clung to her pride.

Helena knew Atthy wasn’t a woman who easily accepted pity. Which made seeing her like this all the more heartbreaking.

''Duchess, I’ll quickl—''

''Helena,'' Atthy cut her off, her voice hoarse. ''Leave me... Please, let me be alone.''

Helena stood still, surprised by the request. But seeing how fragile Atthy looked, she held herself back and obeyed. With heavy steps, she left the room, though her worry only deepened.

Outside, she led the three maids away—but something gnawed at her. The maids were still visibly distressed, the tension between them unresolved.

They were hiding something.

---

On her way to the dining hall, Helena ran into Alwyn.

''Lady Helena!'' Alwyn called out. ''Please deliver this to the Duchess.'' He handed her a sealed envelope.

Helena raised a brow. ''A document?'' Still, she accepted it. ''Mr. Alwyn, forgive me—may I ask for your help? Please summon Dr. Sarah.''

''Dr. Sarah?'' Alwyn looked alert. ''Is the Duchess unwell?''

Helena nodded. ''Yes. Please see to it immediately.''

Alwyn didn’t ask further and departed. But Helena’s heart grew heavier.

What was truly happening to Atthy?

A knock came at Atthy’s door.

''Duchess, I’m coming in,'' Helena said before stepping in and handing her the document from Alwyn.

''Duchess… are you alright?'' she asked, trying to read the woman’s expression.

Atthy offered a faint smile. ''I’m fine, Helena.''

''My apologies, Duchess. Mr. Alwyn left this for you...'' Helena added, keeping her tone professional.

But the moment Atthy saw the document, her expression shifted. A bitter smile crept onto her lips. Helena noticed—Atthy’s eyes looked as if they were crying, even without tears.

''What is it, Duchess?'' Helena asked cautiously.

Atthy lifted the document, her gaze hollow. ''I no longer hold that title. Just Atthaleyah Galina now.''

''I beg your pardon, Duchess... I don’t understand...''

''Your master sent me divorce papers,'' Atthy said, holding up Hugh’s letter, her tone relaxed—yet the sadness in her eyes betrayed her.

''What?!'' Helena gasped, almost in disbelief.

She even forgot her original purpose of inviting Atthy to lunch. Her thoughts seethed with anger. Part of her wanted to confront Hugh and demand an explanation.

Before Atthy could sign the papers, Helena’s hand instinctively stopped her.